


That's a Thing that I Keep in the Back of my Head

by Telesilla



Series: I've a Feeling It's Time to Try [4]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 5 Things, Baseball, Clothing Kink, Getting to Know Each Other, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Five Things About Buster that Would Surprise His Teammates</strong><br/>and<br/><strong>Five Things About Tim Buster didn't Expect</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	That's a Thing that I Keep in the Back of my Head

**Author's Note:**

> When I say a series is complete, I mean "it's complete until I decide I want to write more" so never mind the thing where I said I was done with these boys.
> 
> I deliberately arranged these out of chronological order, but they fall roughly between the time Buster and Tim got together in late July of 2013 and Spring Training of 2014. The title is from Paul Simon's song, "I Know What I Know."

**Five Things About Buster that Would Surprise His Teammates**

 

**1\. He's totally owned by Kayo and Cy**

More than once, Tim's come into the living room to find Buster on the floor with the dogs climbing all over him. Buster doesn't seem to mind when they lick his face or walk all over his stomach and he's happy to let them tug on his clothes or play bite his hands. He's ruined more than one t-shirt playing tug of war with them and he talks to them all the time.

It's almost painfully adorable and Tim films it whenever he has his phone or his iPad. In fact, he teases Buster, saying he has a whole folder of blackmail material on his iPad to show in the clubhouse. It doesn't work; Buster just grins and tells him to send the latest files to Kristen to share with the kids.

* * *

**2\. He's always been apolitical.**

Tim never thought Buster was some kind of crazy reactionary, but he figured he voted the straight (no pun intended) Republican ticket because he's a white guy with lots of money.

(Tim votes Democrat because he's a bisexual stoner. He doesn't care about other issues like Obamacare or drones, though he thinks he probably should.)

But one night when it comes up on the way home from the yard, Buster shakes his head.

"I've never voted. I don't feel like I know enough to know who to vote for."

"You don't vote with your wallet?"

"Huh? Oh you mean voting for someone who promises tax breaks to rich people and stuff like that? Nah. I have enough money to pay my way."

"Sounds pretty liberal to me."

"Maybe." Buster pauses for a long moment and then says. "My folks always voted Republican, you know? But I think...I mean, I'm gay. Maybe I should start paying more attention to politics."

Tim nods, a little distracted by the look Buster always gets when he's says he's gay. Like he still can't believe he can say it and mean it without wanting to hide under something. Tim's happy to take at least some of the credit for that.

"Can't hurt to read a few things," he says.

One morning a few days later, Tim finds Buster sitting at the kitchen table filling out a voter registration form. Buster hates it when Tim leans over his shoulder to read something, so of course, Tim leans over his shoulder every chance he gets.

"Quit!" Buster elbows Tim in the ribs.

"You're registering here? Not Georgia?"

Buster gives him the wow, you're an idiot look. "Georgia's not home, dumbass."

It takes Tim a minute to figure it out and then he's leaning in to kiss Buster. It's early enough that they have time for fooling around before they have to go to the yard. Buster, Tim thinks as he shoves his hand down the front of Buster's sweats, can always fill out the form later.

* * *

**3\. He has nightmares about a war that was over before he was born.**

"My great-uncle," Buster says one morning as the first gray light appears behind the curtains. "He went to Vietnam and everyone says he was never the same after. And, well, it's the South you know? His generation didn't bother with shrinks; you took your troubles to Jesus or the bottle."

Running a hand through his hair, Buster sighs. "He chose the bottle and one time when he was drunk, I heard him talking with one of the other vets in town. I was, I dunno, five or six and I listened to them for a while. And you know? A kid that age shouldn't hear stuff like that."

"That's when the nightmares started?"

"Yeah. And then when I was older and learned more about it, there was just more information in my head. It's always the same thing--jungles and helicopters and gunfire and things on fire. Very occasionally it's people on fire; that started up once I saw those famous pictures." He shrugs, like it's no big deal. "It's not a huge thing or anything; it doesn't happen all that often. Sorry I woke you up."

"Hey, no. It's okay." Tim reaches for him, not sure if Buster will accept any comfort. But as soon as he slides his arm around Buster's waist, Buster leans against him.

"It's okay," Tim says again. When he runs a hand down Buster's back, he can feel Buster relax just a little. "Tsunamis," he says. "That's mine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Always trying to run away from one and not making it. If you hear me waking up gasping really loud, that's why."

"If it happens and I don't hear you, wake me up, okay?" Buster says. "I mean, that's what this," he gestures between the two of them. "Is all about, right?"

"Right," Tim says, smiling as he pulls Buster in for a kiss.

* * *

**4\. Sex shocks the hell out of him.**

(Well, maybe people wouldn't be surprised by that, but they'd be wrong about why.)

"Here," Tim says, patting the bed in front of him. He's sitting on a couple of pillows with his back to the headboard. When Buster moves--hesitant and slow--into position to blow Tim, Tim shakes his head. "No, sit up here, with your back to me."

They've only been doing this for a couple weeks, but, unless he's in the middle of a freak out, Buster's done everything Tim's suggested. Tim's beginning to believe it's not just inexperience, that maybe Buster would rather not control the whole game, as it were, when they're in bed. And really, he's okay with that, he thinks as Buster settles between Tim's spread legs. Tim might be short and slight, but he's a lot toppier than most people expect.

"Mmmmm," Buster says leaning back against Tim's chest. "How are you always so warm?

"Naturally exothermic." Tim kisses the back of Buster's neck. The pillows were a good idea; he's not stuck staring at Buster's back. "Why do you think I sweat so much on the mound?"

Buster shivers as Tim kisses him again. "I always worry about you in DC and Atlanta," he says, leaning his head back a little.

"I know," Tim says, resisting the urge to sigh. With his free agency hanging over his head, he doesn't want to talk about where he can and can't pitch. As recently as a month ago, he'd kind of wondered if a change of scenery would help, if maybe starting over with a new team would fix him. Now, though, he's ready to take just about anything the Giants offer as long as it means he can stay here.

Don't think about it, he tells himself. Right now, he's got a naked Buster Posey pressed up against his chest and it would be a shame to waste an opportunity like that.

"I'm going to touch you," he says, his mouth right against Buster's ear. He bites Buster's earlobe gently and yeah, there it is again, that shiver.

"Yeah," Buster says, his voice already a little husky. "Your hands always feel so good."

Tim's fooled around with ball players before, but never someone built like Buster. "Batter's arms," he says, running his fingers over Buster's biceps. "all this fucking gorgeous muscle." He doesn't want to say anything about it right now, but he remembers that picture of Buster in whatever magazine it was--the one with Buster and Harper and Trout on the cover. Even if it was obvious he wasn't comfortable being in front of the camera like that, Buster was so fucking hot in that snug black t-shirt with the sleeves that clung to his arms. Tim can't imagine what it took to get him to pose like that.

And sure enough, right on cue, Buster says: "It's just that I work out a lot." He sounds almost apologetic.

"Shut up," Tim says, sliding his hands down Buster's arms. "And let me compliment you."

He can hear Buster open his mouth to say something, but then, as Tim rubs his thumbs across the soft skin inside Buster's elbows, Buster catches his breath. "Oh," he says. "That's...." Sighing, he leans his head back onto Tim's shoulder. "That's good."

"Mmmmm, yeah?" Tim mouths at Buster's ear and runs his thumbs down the inside of Buster's arms. "Good for me too, touching you like this."

It's not just that Buster's fucking built, it's the way he reacts. He doesn't hide anything in bed, never plays it cool or pretends that he's not affected by what Tim's doing. Now, as Tim presses his thumbs against the pulse points at Buster's wrists, he can hear Buster catch his breath again. "Your fucking hands," Tim murmurs.

Buster looks down and turns his hands over, sliding his fingers between Tim's. "Yours too," he says. "Turns out I have this thing for your fingers."

"Yeah?" Tim nuzzles Buster's neck. "Where do you want me to touch you next?"

"Anywhere," Buster says. "Everywhere...I...." His voice is shaking a little and Tim tries to stay relaxed even though he's mentally bracing himself for one of Buster's "oh God this is way too gay" moments.

Instead, Buster twists until he can look at Tim. "All you've done is touch my fucking arms," he says. "And I'm...I need...."

"Its okay." Tim kisses the side of Buster's neck. "Lie down," he says, sneaking in one more kiss before Buster moves.

Once Buster's lying on his back, Tim settles in next to him. "Can you tell me what you want?" He rests his hand on Buster's. "Or maybe show me?"

Buster breathes in deep and brings their hands down to his hip. "Here," he says. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back as Tim traces the cut of his lower abs, following the smooth ridge of muscle down the inside of Buster's hip.

"Like this?"

"Yeah," Buster says.

"How about here?" Instead of going a little further down, Tim moves his hand over to Buster's other side. As he slides his fingers up instead of down, Buster makes a harsh, frustrated noise. When he tilts his hips a little, making it clear what he really wants, Tim thinks of waiting for him to ask for it. Some other time, he thinks, looking at Buster's flushed face. Buster's biting his lower lip and his breath is unsteady, and Tim just stares for a moment because this is real; Buster's really here. With him.

"Or maybe here," Tim says. Instead of using his fingers, he sweeps the palm of his hand down over Buster's hip. "Like," he adds as he finally rests his hand on Buster's cock. "Right here."

"Yeah...that's...that's...there." Buster arches his hips again, pressing up against Tim's hand. "Tim...Tim...please!"

"I want to watch," Tim says as he finally stops the tease. He wraps his hand around Buster's dick and starts jacking him, running a thumb over the head with each upstroke. "C'mon, Buster...c'mon. Let me see you...."

Before Tim can even finish his sentence, Buster groans deep and loud and comes all over his belly and Tim's hand.

"Yeah," Tim says, slowing his hand to make it last as long as he can. Buster shudders again, a full body shiver and presses up into Tim's grip one more time. "Oh yeah; you're so fucking hot like this."

When Buster opens his eyes, he stares up at Tim. "I don't," he says, his tongue flicking over his lip like it does when he's nervous. "I can't...I've never...not like this. Not like it is with you."

"It's okay, right? Not too much?"

"Yeah," Buster says. He shivers one more time and then his whole body relaxes. "It's okay and it's too much and...wow," he says with a soft smile. "Every time we do this, every time you make me come, it's like...oh God, I'm gonna sound so stupid here."

"No you won't." Tim bends down and kisses Buster, just a light brush of his mouth against Buster's lips.

"It's like being a teenager again only I get it now, you know? I know what the big deal is." Reaching up, Buster cups his hand around the back of Tim's neck and pulls him down. "I want to kiss you," he says, his mouth moving against Tim's lips. "And then I want to make you feel good."

"Mmmm yeah," Tim says. As Buster kisses him, he can't help feeling just a little smug. Maybe he had to wait for Buster to figure it out, but it feels like Buster's been waiting too, waiting for someone--for Tim--to make him feel like this.

* * *

**5\. He's a surprisingly adventurous eater.**

Buster's never had anything but California rolls, which he didn't like because he only likes avocado when it's in guacamole, but when Tim takes him to his favorite sushi place, Buster surprises the hell out of him.

"Eel? I want to try that." And, "Oh hey, look, you can get octopus on this...sunomono? Is that how you say it? We should get that." And, "I've never seen salmon roe outside a bait shop. Is it any good?"

"It's raw, you know. The eel and the octopus." Tim pauses. "The roe too."

Buster rolls his eyes. "I know that much." Before he can turn his attention back to the menu, Tim takes it out of his hand. "C'mon," he says and leads Buster to the bar.

Tim's been coming here for years; he knows the whole staff. After introducing Buster to the chef, he says, "tell him what you told me...about the only sushi you've had."

"Okay, no avocado," Mark says once Buster's said his piece. "Let's see what we can do."

It's a cold Tuesday night in January and the only other party in the place is at a table; Buster and Tim have Mark's undivided attention. Buster's fascinated with the process and since he knows a thing or two about fish, he and Mark get along just fine.

Buster's amazing appetite doesn't hurt; he's still going strong after Tim's had more than enough. Tim's used to it--because goddamn but Buster can pack it away--and he leans back on his stool and watches Buster charm the hell out of Mark and the rest of the staff. Buster doesn't mean to be charming and when you tell him he is, he usually says something like "shut the fuck up." The thing is, aside from when he's dealing with the media, he never looks like he's faking anything. When you have his attention, you feel like you have all of it.

To be honest, it's one of the reasons Tim fell for him years ago.

"You're going to leave me for Mark." Tim says as they walk home.

"I just might. That thing, with the panko shrimp and the tuna and the eel? The one with the spicy sauce? That was awesome. He even got me to like that hand roll with the avocado."

"Buster?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever had Ethiopian?"

"No. Is there some place around here where I can try it?" In spite of just eating something like a hundred rolls or so, Buster looks eager and curious.

"Yeah," Tim says with a grin. There's no one on the sidewalks or the street, so he reaches out and takes Buster's hand. "I'll take you over there tomorrow."

Buster squeezes Tim's fingers and grins at him. "Cool."

* * *

**Five Things About Tim Buster didn't Expect**

**1\. He used to think about walking away from everything, totally disappearing and starting over.**

"You ever seen one of those mileage signs?" Tim asks, watching as Buster packs before they head north for Fan Fest. "The ones you sometimes see in California? Where it lists the distance to some local towns and then tells you it's three thousand and some miles to Maryland?"

"No. Why?"

"There was one near us when I was a kid; I saw it all the time. And sometimes I'd have these fantasies about just getting on the road and going."

"Was it curiosity? Or just things being too much?"

Tim rarely talks to Buster about the whole thing with his dad, but, like everyone else, Buster knows the Lincecum Story. Buster's own dad always encouraged him and gave him the all the time Buster needed to learn how to play, but he never took any kind of credit for Buster's accomplishments. It would be weird, Buster thinks, to be constantly looking over your shoulder only to find your dad backseat driving.

"Wanting to be someone else mostly. So maybe it was things being too much." He shrugs a little. "Like maybe go to Idaho and get a stupid job to pay the bills and take up snowboarding. Or sometimes I just wanted to drift. Just see what was out there."

"Like one long road trip."

"Yeah," Tim says. "Sometimes it was just that. And other times...." He sighs and Buster reaches out and slides his fingers between Tim's.

"Last season when it was all falling apart...before the no-hitter, I kept thinking about leaving whatever hotel we were in, buying a car and just vanishing. Or buying a one way ticket to Nepal so I could trek and and hang out where no one gives a fuck about baseball."

They're silent for a while and then Tim says, "It's not being afraid of commitment. I mean, not to a person. Or maybe it was."

"Oh?"

Tim's had girlfriends and at least one boyfriend Buster knows about. None of the relationships lasted very long, but according to Tim, none of the breakups involved drama. When he occasionally mentions one of his exes, it's always with a sort of absent fondness, like talking about a distant relative you're not in touch with anymore.

"Yeah. Maybe I didn't want to commit to being me." He snorts. "Wow, way to be deep."

"No," Buster says. "I think I get it."

"Oh?"

"Big Time Timmy Jim."

"Dude was a jerk."

"He could be," Buster says. "But you had a lot on you then."

"Yeah, kinda."

They're silent for a long moment.

"That first day," Tim finally said. "When we went up to Bolinas, I wanted to keep going. Just drive until we came to a split in the road and flipped a coin to choose the direction." He looks down at their hands. "I still think that sometimes. Just us going off somewhere."

"Okay," Buster says. "Lets do that next offseason. No planning except picking a date."

"We can't just...it's us. People would recognize us."

"Mexico. Canada," Buster says, liking the idea more and more. "Anywhere in Europe where they drive on our side of the road. New Zealand, even though they don't drive on our side of the road. It'll be summer down there and they don't give a fuck about baseball."

"You'd do that? Without planning?"

"No game plan. No film of the other team, no pitch counts, no sitting on a bench for day games after night games?" Buster grins. "Yeah, I'd do that."

"How about this? We go to the airport on the date, look at the board and just pick somewhere."

Buster's never done the kinds of things only rich people can do. Well, he's played at Augusta and he's paying a shit ton of child support and alimony, but this is different. They can, he thinks, afford to get on a plane to anywhere and just buy clothes and whatever else they need when they get wherever they're going.

"Yeah, early December," he says. "We'll roll dice at the end of November and leave on whatever day comes up." He doesn't need to say why he wants to wait until early December as opposed to early November. Sitting on the couch watching the playoffs sucked, even with Tim and the dogs. This year...this year's gonna be different.

"Who are you and what have you done with Buster Posey?" Tim's grinning even as he says it.

"I dunno, maybe he's spent some time with that Lincecum guy, learned out to chill out a little." He leans against Tim. "It's not exactly your fantasy, but...."

"Buster? I haven't wanted to, at least not alone, for--what is it, seven months now?"

"Oh," Buster says.

"Yeah, dumbass."

* * *

**2\. He actually thinks about what he puts on before walking out the door.**

Buster always thought Tim dressed out of the laundry basket.

He finally says so one afternoon but fortunately, Tim just laughs it off. "Being a hipster is hard work."

"Clearly," Buster says as he looks Tim over. Tim's wearing a pair of chinos that don't really fit right, a white undershirt and over that.... "Hey, is that my shirt? 'Cause it's fucking huge on you."

"Yeah, but I like this plaid." 

"But...." Buster watches as Tim wraps a brown leather bracelet around his wrist. "People might notice."

"Dude," Tim says as he holds up both a black beanie and a gray one. "I could have grabbed this shirt from your locker or Bum's or Belt's or even Cainer's on some days. Or I could have picked it up from Goodwill. And I do wear plaid sometimes." He shoots Buster a look. "Does it bug you?"

"What, that you actually put those looks together deliberately? Not really." Buster moves in close and takes the beanies out of Tim's hands. Tossing them on the dresser, he says, "that you're wearing my shirt?"

Tim stares at him as Buster reaches down and starts unzipping Tim's chinos. "That's not bugging me," Buster says, going down on his knees. "It's driving me fucking crazy."

* * *

**3\. He takes Buster's background seriously.**

The very first time they go anywhere in Buster's truck, The Highway starts up right along with the truck.

"Sorry," Buster says and reaches to turn the radio off.

"Your car, you call it," Tim says. "Let's play it that way."

Buster still feels horribly self conscious as he pulls out of the players lot. Especially when Tim leans forward a little and actually seems to be listening. Since he seems interested and since Buster really likes Darius Rucker, he thinks fuck it and turns it up when "Wagon Wheel" come on.

"This one's good," he says.

Tim nods and listens to the whole song without saying anything. "It gets a little twangy," he says when the songs over. "But I kind of like it."

"Yeah, well, it's country music; chances are good it's gonna be twangy. I like it because it's feel good music. He loves her and it's worth hitching down from the North to see her." He glances over at Tim. "Country music, at least the stuff I like...there's not a lot of irony, you know? It's mostly love songs, just like pop music is, and then you mix in the 'it's awesome to be Southern' songs. Trucks are frequently involved."

"Is it? Awesome to be Southern?"

Buster's about to say something off the cuff, but Tim looks genuinely curious.

"It's weird at times, because of course you resent the stereotyping that goes on outside the South, but you also think some of it's right because you know people like that. The good ol boys who don't understand that a picture of the president with a bone in his nose is racist even though they say it's just a joke; the hypocritical, judgemental church people talk about God's love but hate people like us; the broke but proud backwoods families whose kids have bad teeth and wear hand-me-downs and so on. But there are a lot of good people down there too and, you know, sometimes it feels strange to actually have to say that."

"Yeah, I can see that," Tim says after a minute. "I mean there really are a ton of stoners and hipsters in the Northwest, but you don't have to say stuff like 'but some of us are decent human beings.'"

"Exactly. Sometimes you just want to say, 'no one will never understand, so fuck them; it's awesome to be Southern.'" Buster brings the heavy drawl on that last bit and Tim smiles at him.

"Were you having a moment when you chose a walkup song about moonshine running? Because that's totally playing to the Southern stereotype."

A little surprised that Tim knows what "Hell on Wheels" is about, Buster shrugs. "Nah," he says. "I just like that song." He glances at Tim and smiles a little. "And maybe I was being a tiny bit ironic. I mean, it's not what people think when they think of me."

"Talk to me about the good stuff," Tim says after a moment. "The stuff you like about being from Georgia, about being Southern."

"What, right now?"

"It doesn't have to be now. It's just...there's a lot I don't know about you."

Buster can't help glancing over at Tim. "Okay," he finally says. "But you've got to talk about you too." Everyone thinks Tim just puts it all out there all the time, but Buster knows that most people see exactly what Tim wants them to see and no more.

"Deal," Tim says.

"This," Buster says, pointing at the radio. "Is a perfect place to start."

Brantley Gilbert is singing "Country Must Be Country Wide," and Buster grins. "See, it's a little like this. I mean, he's saying you don't have to live in the South to be country, but if you do....

"There's always a station playing outlaw country and there are days when you roll your truck's windows down, crank up the radio and sing along with Willie. And then you get into town and everyone knows you and you can stop in the middle of the street and lean out your window and talk to someone for twenty minutes before anyone even bothers to yell at you to park it and get your ass off the road."

"Yeah?" Tim says. He leans back and looks at Buster.

"Yeah," Buster says. "And...."

As he talks, Buster wonders when this became the life he wants. Sure, like he told Tim, driving a truck and listening to country music is what he's always done, but doing it in San Francisco while he tries to explain what it's like to be Southern to his boyfriend...that's new.

He's not sure if he can go home again, not really, not the way he is now. Maybe someday, maybe not, but he'll always be a Southerner and right now, with Tim in his truck and Luke Bryan on the radio, that's country enough for him.

* * *

**4\. He knows at least twenty different solitaire games.**

"Hey," Buster says, rubbing his eyes as he comes into the kitchen. "It's...." He peers at the clock on the microwave. "Three fifteen."

"Can't sleep," Tim says and then shrugs a little. "Because that's not obvious."

Buster tries to think of what might be wrong. A tsunami dream? Another article about how the Giants should have signed just about any other pitcher instead of giving Tim $35 million for another two years? Buster snoring too loudly?

"Nah," Tim says in reply to the question Buster hasn't asked yet. "I'm good. It just happens."

A little more awake now, Buster looks down at the kitchen table. Tim's laying out cards in a pattern Buster doesn't recognize. "Solitaire with actual cards?"

"It's not the the same on a screen." Tim takes a sip from something in a mug.

"Is that hot chocolate?"

A sniff tells him it is and Tim chuckles.

"That's probably what woke you up. You can smell chocolate a mile away." He gestures at a pan on the stove. "Help yourself."

Buster fills a mug and sits down across from Tim. "Wow, this is good," he says after his first sip. The chocolate's rich and a little spicy.

"Yeah, it's Mexican. I should have known you'd like it." Tim moves a few cards and then shakes his head and scoops them up. When he lays them out again, it's in a pyramid shape.

"I've never seen that one. How's it work?"

"You match two cards that add up to thirteen," Tim says, tossing a ten and a three into the discard pile. "It's easy but the odds of winning suck."

Buster watches and drinks his chocolate. When Tim loses his game, he starts another one Buster's never seen.

After that, he moves on to yet another layout--laying individual cards out in a row and discarding some of them according to a pattern Buster can't figure out. It's oddly hypnotic, especially since Buster's not paying as much attention to the game as he is to Tim's long fingers moving cards around.

"Did you see a move?"

"No, just watching your hands." Buster finishes off his chocolate and rests a hand on Tim's game. "I can think of a better way to help you get back to sleep."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And you don't have to play this game alone."

* * *

**5\. He finds the weirdest things sexy.**

"Fuck," Tim says, watching Buster undress one night.

"What?" Buster looks down at himself--plain white t-shirt and an old pair of cotton boxers he really should throw away but doesn't because they're so comfortable.

"Those shorts are...." Tim's voice trails off and he just looks at Buster.

Fuck, they must finally have a hole in them. "Yeah, I know," Buster says. "I keep meaning to get rid of them."

"Don't you dare," Tim says. "And don't take them off."

"Um...okay."

Tim steps up to him and tugs at the hem of Buster's t-shirt. "This can come off," he says.

Once Buster's let Tim take his shirt off, Tim pushes him backwards toward the bed. "Go on, lie down."

When Buster does, arms behind his head as he waits for whatever it is Tim has in mind, Tim stares at him. He's got this way of looking at Buster like, even after four months, he can't believe that Buster's really here. Sometimes it makes Buster feel guilty for not knowing how Tim felt years ago, but tonight, having Tim's attention turned on him like this is fucking hot.

"Come on," Tim says, his hands on Buster's thighs, pushing. Buster can feel his face go red as he spreads his legs and then tilts his hips up so Tim can get at his shorts. "No don't." Tim puts his hands on Buster's hips and presses him back down on the bed. "Let me."

Over the last few months, Buster's come to grips--mostly--with the fact that he's a bottom. He doesn't think he's an actual sub or anything like that, and they're not all that kinky. Still, he's gotten used to lying back and letting Tim take charge. Given how good the results have been so far, he's fine with waiting and seeing what Tim has in mind.

Tim settles in between Buster's legs and Buster frowns just a little. He's in position to blow Buster, but he must have something else in mind because he still hasn't taken....

"Tim!" Buster yelps when Tim licks his dick through his shorts.

"What? You just put them on, like, a couple of hours ago."

"No, it's not that." It kind of is, but Tim's right; Buster's shorts are clean. "It's just...why not take them off?"

"Because I like the way they look on you. And the way they feel." He slides his hands lower on Buster's hips until his fingers brush the sides of Buster's ass. "I can see why you keep them."

Before Buster can reply, Tim goes back to mouthing and licking Buster's dick through the thin cotton of Buster's shorts. He's sure Tim will stop and get rid of the boxers at some point, but no. Tim's using his teeth now, gently biting his way up the shaft of Buster's cock. It's good, better than Buster would have expected, and he's soon arching up to get more. He's always careful not to move too much when Tim's blowing him and he likes being able to do it now. Tim even encourages him; he gets his hands under Buster's ass and presses up.

"Tim," Buster gasps after several minutes of this. The front of his shorts is all wet now and he's turned on enough that not all of it's spit. Tim's fingers digging into Buster's ass feels great, but the fabric of Buster's shorts is dulling the sensation of his mouth on Buster's dick. It's too much and not enough all at the same time. "Tim...c'mon, you fucker."

"Yeah, that's the way to get me to do something." Tim lowers his head and licks a line right up the underside of Buster's dick.

Buster bangs the back of his head against the pillow. "You just like driving me fucking crazy."

"Mmmm hmmm."

"Doing a good...oh fuck!" Tim's scraping the head of Buster's dick with his teeth, softly enough that it doesn't quite hurt, but hard enough that it almost does. Buster's panting hard now, his hips working as he squirms to get more..

"Mmmm," Tim hums again. When he lifts his head, Buster can't help whimpering just a little. "God, listen to you. I love how much you want it."

"Fuck," Buster groans. "I really do...c'mon Timmy, please?" Because why not? Tim knows how much Buster wants it and Tim knows how much Buster loves having Tim's hands and mouth on him, and anyway, it's not like Buster hasn't begged before. "Please?"

"What's in it for me?"

"Whatever...fuck, whatever you want."

"You do that anyway; you're so easy for me."

"Yeah," Buster says looking right at Tim and meaning every word. "I am. For you."

"Jesus," Tim says and now he sounds almost as wrecked as Buster feels. "Buster...." He bends down and kisses Buster's hip, right above the boxers, before moving his mouth down. After another couple of passes with his teeth, he gets his mouth around the head of Buster's dick and starts sucking. It feels strange, but good; Buster digs his fingers into the sheets underneath him and hopes to God Tim will finish him off soon. Like really soon.

"C'mon...c'mon...God, Timmy, please. Make me...make me come."

All it takes is a few more soft bites before Buster's coming--a big, sticky mess--in his boxers. Tim licks him a little longer, but then Buster clumsily bats him away. "Sensitive," he says, still panting. He blinks a few times and tries to pull himself together, at least a little.

"Lemme...."

"All you need to do is lie there." Tim goes up on his knees in between Buster's legs and grabs his own dick. He doesn't bother with anything complicated; he just jacks it hard while looking down at Buster.

"Yeah," Buster says, pretty sure his face is red again. "Wanna see that...see you come all over me. C'mon, Timmy. All over these shorts you like so much."

"Fuck," Tim groans. "Fuck...Buster!" And then Buster's watching as Tim shoots all over Buster's already messy shorts.

"Goddamn," Tim murmurs as he slumps back on his heels. "That was...so fucking hot."

"Yeah," Buster says. 

Tim settles in right up against Buster's side. "That was...wow," Buster says as Tim kisses his collarbone. "Seriously, I may never wash these again."

"Ew."

"Says the man who just blew me through my _underwear."_

"That's different." Tim kisses him again. "You can wash them, but you're never getting rid of them. Like, ever, okay?"

"Never," Buster promises. He pauses and then smiles at Tim. "You're weird, you know that, right?"

"You complaining?"

"Never," Buster says again. "Never."

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of wanted to write something that took place after "Sweet Wonderful You" and as I was thinking about a story where Tim starts learning about Buster, the line "He has nightmares about a war that was over before he was born." got stuck in my head. It felt like it wanted to be part of a five things fic and then I wanted five things about Tim from Buster's POV and here we are, just about 6,000 words later. 
> 
> In case you don't listen to country music--I didn't until recently--and you're curious about the songs mentioned here:  
> [ Wagon Wheel by Darius Rucker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvKyBcCDOB4) (Buster's said he likes Rucker)  
> [ Country Must Be Country Wide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8peBUdlUNmM) by Brantley Gilbert  
> [Hell on Wheels](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JjZT0vutfIg) by Brantley Gilbert (Buster's walkup song. I totally bust out laughing when I realized it was about moonshine running because seriously?)


End file.
